I'm Not That Girl
by Lithium Delusions
Summary: Wicked Run. I'm always watching him... even when I know I should not. D's POV. Mildly shonenai.


_Disclaimers still apply to all our work. We own nothing but our imaginations. Pet Shop of Horrors belongs to Matsuri Akino. We make no claim to her characters, only the right to take them out for little torture sessions in our imaginations. The Lyrics to "I'm Not That Girl" do not belong to us either. C'mon-you honestly think we're that talented?_

**I'm Not That Girl**

"Don't dream too far…

Don't lose sight of who you are

Don't remember that rush of joy

He could be that boy

But I'm not that girl…"

"Every so often, we long to steal

To the land of what-might-have-been

But that doesn't soften the ache we feel

When reality sets back in…"

"Don't wish, don't start

Wishing only wounds the heart…"

(Excerpted from "I'm not that Girl"

Wicked soundtrack; Decca Broadway records)

_A/N-- thanks to everyone who has reviewed the 'Wicked' run so far. Part of the reason Kita and I keep writing is just knowing that people like you are out there, reading and enjoying our work. Thanks also go to LukiDimension and Lurker and Boredom for reviewing Paradiso. Working on a new chapter of that one now. Guess it doesn't want to die either. Anyway, on with the fic..._

I watch him. I am forever watching him, it seems. I shouldn't. I have my duties and the charge passed down to me from my ancestors. But still I watch. I have watched since the first time he wandered into my domain. He caught my interest then, this human of integrity.

He is unaware that I watch him this time as he walks down the streets in the quiet hours before dawn. I would not except that I caught sight of them as I returned home. There is someone on his arm tonight, blonde and full of life and laughter. She holds onto his arm and laughs with him. The wind carries their scent to me and I cannot help breathing deeply of his familiar smell. His scent is all over her and hers on him. The reek of champagne and strawberries does not drown out the distinctive odor of sex that exudes from both of them. It is a pain I do not know exists until it catches me unaware and shakes me to my core. Trembling, I duck out of sight when he would have seen me, clutching my chest as shivers run up my spine. I hide in the shadows, unable to move until his blue eyes slide back to his companion. For a long moment after they have moved on, I stand in the night air that suddenly seems colder than before.

I do not want to feel this way. This pain is worse than any wound I have ever suffered, and I know what causes it. Him. He causes this ache in my chest and the stab of misery that occurs every time I see someone with him. I shouldn't care. I know I shouldn't, but I do. It is a wound deeper and more cutting than any made to flesh. I know and hate it, but can no more be rid of it than I can cut out my living heart.

I hate him, as I hate all those like him. I hate his brash manner and his boorish, Neanderthal ways. I hate his attitude and his cocky smirk when he makes a point that I cannot refute. I hate the way he sprawls carelessly on a couch or chair without regard for the furniture. I hate his loud voice when something upsets him. I hate the shadows that dim his clear blue eyes when he is troubled, which is often. I hate the weariness in his face when he can do nothing for someone no matter how much he longs to. I hate seeing him injured and hurting and I - I unable to do anything for him.

And I hate myself for caring. For noticing all these small things. I don't want to, but I do. I always do.

And right now, I hate myself for wanting to be the one on his arm, laughing with him and loving him. I'm not that girl. I'm not meant to be in her place, smiling and sharing the night with Leon Orcot.

I'm not that girl. But sometimes I wish I was.

A/N It's from here on out that things start getting weird. Most of the fics, including this one, take place in the canon prior to D's leaving LA. Starting with the next one, all events occur after D has fled LA and Leon Orcot. Owari.


End file.
